


Don’t Be

by InnerSpectrum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Greg and Mycroft stand outside of 221B Baker Street dealing with a word of advice from Sherlock.  His  final word of advice.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	Don’t Be

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone On the Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/210785) by [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori). 



> I had nothing better to do than to once again read "Alone On The Water" and a Mystrade bunny emerged.

Gregory Lestrade glances at his watch as he sits inside his car and waits. A stack of files with notes sticking out of its confines is on the car seat beside him. The familiar spidery handwriting on the folded sheet of the last note written sits on top.

_Read this after you’ve left. Don’t come back in once you do._

The note had nothing to do with the casefiles it sits upon, but it is the most important note of all of them.

_Don’t be John and me._

At 21:52 Greg sees when the familiar black sedan pulls up to 221B Baker Street. Three minutes later Mycroft Holmes steps out of the sedan. He turns as his PA, Anthea, steps out and hands him a portable keyboard in its carrying case. The two exchange a few words, but Greg can see the man's thoughts are understandably preoccupied as he barely acknowledges the touch when Anthea grasps Mycroft lightly on the arm with a familiarity he had never seen between them previously. Mycroft gives a nod and she steps into the vehicle again.

That preoccupation is why Mycroft Holmes, the most observant man ever, does not notice Greg sitting a couple of cars in front of them. But Greg sees Mycroft. The pavement is pretty much empty that time of night, so when Mycroft looks up at the open second story windows of his brother’s Baker Street flat his face is unguarded for once as the sedan pulls off. Greg presumes it is to take Anthea home, knowing the driver will return to do the same for Mycroft.

To say the turmoil of the past couple of weeks has been one of epic proportions on all of them would be putting it lightly. A part of Greg wonders how he himself has held it together as well as he has in light of it. Then he feels guilty for the thought. After all, he knows nothing he feels can compare to the devastation of emotions of the two men he left upstairs not too long ago. He saw as John's friend, Sarah, entered and left in quiet tears. Still, he knows the deep sorrow he feels most definitely cannot compare to the utter anguish seen in the eyes of the man who looks up at the windows now. With a deep breath Mycroft gathers himself together and dons the cool impassive mask that he shows to the world as he opens the black door to 221B.

Greg knows it will be a while before Mycroft appears again, yet he steps out of his car to lean against it and waits.

_Don’t be John and me._

Had he not seen Mycroft with the portable keyboard it would have surprised him when he heard the piano music through the open windows some time later. John had mentioned that Sherlock once told him Mycroft played piano. He knows Mycroft has a white grand piano in his townhouse, but has never seen him play. This is the first time Greg has heard the elder Holmes brother play and he was entranced by the beauty of it. It was a classical music piece, of course, and after years of exposure to Sherlock and his violin, Greg was able to recognize that Mycroft plays something Paganini. When he hears Sherlock’s violin join Mycroft’s piano after a while, Greg smiles a bittersweet smile.

Greg imagined Mycroft's long elegant fingers as they hovered over the keys. Sherlock had said it had been a while since his brother played, not having time in his busy schedule to enjoy it as much as he once had. He knows Sherlock must have requested that Mycroft play for him. Sherlock playing the violin now is as much a gift for Mycroft, as Mycroft playing the piano is a gift for Sherlock. Listening now Greg knew Mycroft was not enjoying it but play for his brother he will. Mycroft and Sherlock will bicker tooth and nail over the silly things Sherlock asks for, aka buys on Mycroft’s credit card without permission first, but Mycroft has never been able to deny his baby brother anything he truly needed. He most certainly could not deny him this. It is what made his playing now so much more poignant.

A couple passing by stops at the sounds of the impromptu concert. They hold hands and smile as they listen, having no appreciation of its importance. Greg wants to tell them to go away, they do not deserve to enjoy this very lovely moment between the brothers, but he cannot make himself say anything over the lump growing ever larger in his throat.

Greg has no idea when was the last time the Holmes Brothers had played together before tonight. It absolutely guts him to realize that this night would be the very last time they would play together _ever_. He knows John Watson, who undoubtedly sits somewhere near Sherlock and watches as the brothers play, knows this as well. These past weeks were especially hell on the former army doctor, who has barely left Sherlock’s side, but Greg knows it will be nothing compared to what the man will go through tomorrow.

Greg knows Sherlock and John love each other more than anything. He also knows the two idiots have never admitted that love to each other. Not even now. He suspects they both know it now in their heart of hearts but feel it too late to act on it when Sherlock will soon be gone. The wasted chance lays just as unspoken between them. Sherlock Holmes, the man who prized his brilliant mind above all except perhaps John, was in the final stages of dying from an inoperable brain tumor of all the bloody things. In complete Sherlock form he has chosen to leave this world as he has lived in it – on his own terms. None of which helps either John or Sherlock right now.

_Don’t be John and me._

What is his heartache for the complete unfairness of it all in comparison to theirs?

What little composure Greg had up until that moment breaks.

When an audible sob escapes Greg, the couple turns and sees the tears that slowly stream down his face as he looks up at the windows. They quickly step on, leaving him to his pain. Greg did not care.

He knows by this time tomorrow he would have done his job according to the plan agreed upon by all parties involved. He would have collected Sherlock and made the official call to Mycroft letting him know that the baby brother Mycroft has loved and protected since the day he was born was dead. Even if it were not in his official capacity to do so, Greg knew it would be him that would make the call, for John Watson would certainly be in no condition to do so.

When the music eventually ends Greg quickly wipes his face. He knows his anguish will show, you cannot hide such deep emotion from a Holmes, especially Mycroft, but he knows it will not matter. Greg looks around expecting to see the sedan pull up any moment. So he is caught a little off guard when the door to 221B opens a few minutes later and Mycroft exits carrying the portable keyboard.

Greg knew Sherlock. He knew Sherlock would want his brother to be the last visitor. Even before Greg received the note he had wanted to be there for Mycroft, just in case. 

_Don't be John and me._

He realizes then that though he and Mycroft had not spoken to each other today, Mycroft somehow knew that Greg would be there waiting for him and had not asked for his sedan to return. Mycroft’s overall expression as he gives Greg a nod would look calm to those who do not know him. While Greg does not know Mycroft as well as he hopes to someday, he knows him well enough to see the utter anguish that lay under the public mask.

Greg opens the back door to his car and gives a curt nod in return as Mycroft silently approaches and places the keyboard in back. The two men stand on the pavement and stare at each other both having so much, yet not knowing exactly what, to say to each other.

Greg can see Mycroft’s misery in conflict with his longing, he knows those same emotions are reflected on his face. After a moment Mycroft reaches inside his blazer and hands Greg a handwritten note from Sherlock.

Greg opens the passenger door and transfers the casefiles, the last casefiles that Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes will ever work on, to the backseat. He hands Mycroft the note that is on the top. Mycroft’s breath catches on an inhale and shudders in release as he recognizes the spidery cursive of his baby brother’s final words to Greg.

Together they read the letters.

Greg reads Sherlock’s letter to Mycroft:

_Brother Mine,_

_I know you feel for him, I can see it if no one else can._

_Because you are as stupid as I am, I know you have not told him. You have emotional blinders on and cannot see that it is reciprocated. It is, trust me. Regrettably, for different reasons, he, _like John_ , is his own brand of idiot and won’t tell you how he feels. Perhaps it is out of fear of rejection, but we both know you won’t. I know him well, I am sure he has figured out that you’re the last person coming to see me tonight. He will wait for you, because he knows you’re going to need a friend. He is a patient man, he’s dealt with me all these years after all, but not even he can wait forever. Don’t let him or yourself suffer needlessly. Let him love you and let yourself love him. _

_Don't be John and me._

_Please look out for John, and if it happens that we were wrong about an afterlife, I’ll save a brimstone seat for you._

_Sherlock_

Mycroft reads Sherlock’s letter to Greg:

_Greg, (I know, I know – NOW I get your name right.)_

_You are a good man. One of the best I know, besides John of course. Thank you for believing in me in the beginning when no one else did. Your constant support and unwavering friendship have meant everything. There is nothing that could ever repay something like that, so the best thing I can do is give you a final piece of advice:_

_Don’t be John and me. You know what I mean._

_Do take care of him; he’s not as strong as he thinks he is._

_Sherlock_

_Oh! If the man in the Arsenal shirt has a green ladder, arrest him._

Neither men can help their tremulous smiles at Sherlock’s final request of them as the letters are returned to the proper owners.

They silently climb into the car and Greg drives off. They are maybe five blocks away when Greg sees as Mycroft’s resolve starts to fail. He quickly parks the car and pulls the man who is made of anything but ice at the moment into his arms.

Mycroft falls into them, he places his head on Greg’s shoulder and he _lets go_.

Greg is terrified that he is allowed to see this much emotion from Mycroft, yet he is honored by the trust given to be allowed to see it. It is painful, absolutely gut wrenching to behold the depth of Mycroft’s love for his brother expressed in his pain. Together they allow themselves to openly grieve for Sherlock in a way they have not been able to in the past weeks of knowing the man was dying, but unable to do or say anything in the charade Sherlock had insisted on that everything was normal.

Eventually they pull apart and Greg starts driving again. They still do not speak, but when Mycroft reaches out to grasp Greg’s hand, Greg returns the tight grip and does not let go until he pulls up to the gate of Mycroft’s townhouse. Greg is pulling into his own parking space at home when he realizes neither he nor Mycroft spoke a word to each other the entire ride.

Neither man is in a state to act on Sherlock’s advice; they both know it. Greg clenches his fist in memory of the feel of Mycroft’s lips on his knuckles in unspoken apology before he quickly exited the car.

_Don’t be John and me._

Greg mentally promises Sherlock that he will not.

_Let him love you and let yourself love him._

Mycroft mentally promises his brother that he will.

They must get through tomorrow and then the many days after them first, but as each man lay in their respective bed alone, they feel the first stirrings of hope in knowing that they would keep their promise.


End file.
